The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  “You poor dears,” clucked Genevieve, gazing with eloquent and sympathetic eyes on the well-exercised and perfectly content animals. “What will become of you when I return to London next week?”

  “But, Mother, I thought you were staying for another two weeks?” Sam expostulated. “You can’t go yet!”

  “But I must, dear,” Genevieve assured her. “My new play, Joan of Arc, begins in a month, and even I need some time to rehearse. Besides, your sister and Julian’s brother are expected any moment and will stay till Christmas. You’re going to have a very crowded house.”

  “There are four-and-thirty bedchambers in Montgomery Manor,” Julian reminded her.

  “Don’t brag,” Genevieve sniffed. “That’s not the point. You two are barely home from your honeymoon. Wouldn’t you rather be alone?”

  “If a man can’t find a place to be alone with his wife in a house like this, then he is not very motivated,” Julian observed. He turned to Sam and slid an arm around her waist. “I assure you, my dear mother-in-law, I am always quite motivated.”

  Genevieve tried to look offended by this provocative comment, but she smiled instead. “That is undeniably true, I daresay, but I still must return to London in a very few days. Since word got about that you are my daughter, Samantha, the theaters are packed fuller than ever for my performances. The notoriety certainly has done me no harm.”

  “Nor me, either, Mother,” Sam reminded her. “At least none that I care about. Julian has intimidated the ton into viewing the whole matter as a nine days’ wonder and of trifling consequence … or, at least, so they say to his face. And our real friends—of which we can count some of London’s best society—understand that what happened to me was no fault of mine, nor do they think it shocking that my mother is the famous Genevieve DuBois. In fact, I think they are rather jealous!”

  “Posh, my dear, don’t flatter me,” Genevieve said modestly, but was obviously quite pleased.

  “Samantha! Julian! Genevieve!” came Nan’s voice as she rushed into the room. “Amanda and Jack are here!”

  This breathless announcement was followed by the entrance of Priss, energetically wringing her hands, and the three pups … who were no longer pups … prancing about and yapping in response to the excitement of their various human companions.

  Madison had grown to be a large and clumsy animal with a sunny disposition and a playful temper. George was loyal, obedient, and devoted to Sam. And Louie, as lazy as ever but very charming with his large brown eyes and toad-eating ways, had ingratiated himself into the French cook’s good graces and spent most of his time in the kitchen being pampered and fed.

  Now the entire room, including the five barking dogs, emptied into the hall and headed en masse toward the front door, where Amanda and Jack had just stepped over the threshold.

  The pandemonium was considerable. The two sisters embraced first, then arms were hugging everywhere and fluttering handkerchiefs were dabbing away lots of female tears. Even Genevieve, who did not know the new arrivals except by report, was misty-eyed.

  Julian and Jack, always glad to see each other, shook hands firmly and thumped each other hard on the backs, smiling like Bedlamites.

  In the midst of this chaos, a young woman, looking a bit alarmed by all the noise and fuss, timidly slipped in the door and inquired of Amanda, “What shall I do with the babe, my lady?”

  Amanda turned and peered lovingly into the sleeping infant’s face. “Why, you must give him to Lord Durham, Betty, for I’m sure his father will want to show him off.”

  Jack, looking as handsome as ever with his glossy dark hair and snapping brown eyes, seemed to puff up with fatherly pride. He took the child from the nurse and gently cradled him in his manly arms, tilting him so that his shock of black hair and his round cheeks could be seen and appreciated by all.

  Among the females, there was a general gush of admiration.

  “He looks just like you, Jack,” Sam exclaimed, touching her nephew’s fat little cheek with her finger.

  “But I daresay he’ll still fare well enough in the world if he has inherited his mother’s brains,” Julian replied with the expected brutal wit of an older brother.

  Jack laughed heartily and, in so doing, woke up his son. The babe blinked a few times, looked up into a half dozen strange faces, and immediately began to exercise his lungs.

  This indignant outburst from his offspring seemed to delight Jack, who smiled wide and shouted above the din, “This noisy fellow is my son … Jonathan Jackson Montgomery. Isn’t he a strapper?”

  Everyone enthusiastically agreed.

  Dashing away the last of their tears, Priss and Nan suddenly recollected their duties as great-aunts, shooed the dogs outside, and bade everyone to retire to the parlor where the weary travelers and little Jonathan could be made more comfortable.

  Remembering her duties as lady of the house—a marchioness, no less—Sam ordered refreshments and made sure the housekeeper was busily directing Jack and Amanda’s servants and belongings to the proper chambers.

  Finally everyone was settled in the parlor, Jonathan had been whisked away by his nurse for a nappy change, and Genevieve was introduced and warmly welcomed into the family by Jack and Amanda.

  General conversation ensued for a half hour, while the details of Jack and Amanda’s travels and trials while returning home from a villa in Italy with an infant in tow were discussed with humor and liveliness.

  Presently, Genevieve excused herself and the aunts followed suit, with Priss saying on her way out, “We old folks are fagged to death by all this excitement. We’ll see you all later at dinner.”

  “Sam, your mother is charming,” Amanda said when they were gone. Betty had brought back the baby—changed and fed—and Amanda sat on the sofa, holding him.

  “Thank you,” Sam said, very gratified, standing over them and gazing down at the Madonna-like scene.

  “I remember seeing her on the stage last autumn,” Amanda further remarked. “I always thought her vastly talented, but I never imagined she was your mother!”

  “Nor did I,” Jack whispered in an aside to Julian as they stood together near the fire. “I’m very glad she rebuffed me that time I tried to kiss her. It would be devilish awkward now if I had succeeded.”

  “You never would have,” Julian said with ruthless candor. “As it happens, the lady is very particular.”

  “Rebuffed you, too, eh, big brother?”

  “I never tried,” Julian murmured. “Although, I must admit, it did cross my mind a time or two. But, thank God, fate intervened. Think how awkward it would have been for me!”

  Jack nodded soberly, and both gentlemen looked toward their wives.

  “We’re much luckier than we deserve, Julian,” Jack mused.

  “That’s the truest thing you’ve ever said, little brother.”

  Just then, Amanda caught Jack’s eye and called, “Come, dear. Why don’t you sit down?” Readily compliant, Jack sat next to Amanda on the sofa and gazed fondly down at little Jonathan, who was sleeping peacefully.

  Julian sat down in a wing chair opposite the sofa, and Sam perched on his knee, her arm slung around his neck and his arm about her waist.

  Sam thought her sister looked more beautiful than ever, her pale blond hair shining, her skin glowing, her eyes sparkling with happiness. Presently, when Amanda was able to tear her eyes away from her sleeping son, Sam smiled and said with heartfelt sincerity, “I am glad you are home. I’ve worried about you.”

  “It was rather hard staying in bed for so many weeks, but it was worth it,” Amanda said with a contented smile. “And Jack kept me very well entertained.” She slid a sly look toward her husband. “He brought me flowers and candy and read me racy novels. He even made up some stories of his own. I must confess that they were the best of them all. Believe me, Julian, marriage has not subdued your brother’s lively spirits in the least.”

  “Heaven help us,” drawled Julian with a faint smile, an
d Jack smiled back, wholly unrepentant.

  “But I was very sorry I missed your coming-out, Sam,” Amanda said. “However, I thought of you constantly, and I knew Julian would take very good care of you.”

  “He certainly did that,” Jack agreed, cocking a suggestive brow at his older brother.

  Wisely ignoring her husband’s naughty inferences, Amanda continued, “And you’ve turned into such a lovely, accomplished woman, Sam. I am not at all surprised to hear you had admirers in abundance. But whatever happened to your French suitor? I must confess that although I hoped all along that Julian would finally realize the two of you were meant to be together and declare himself—”

  “God God, was I the only one in the dark?” Julian interposed.

  “—from your description of him I became rather attached to Jean-Luc!”

  “How careless of you, my dear,” Jack murmured playfully. “You should have kept such a confession to yourself. Now I’ll have to call the fellow out!”

  “That won’t be possible, Jack,” Julian assured him. “He’s left the country.”

  “Left the country?” Amanda cried, alarmed. “He’s not gone off with a broken heart, has he?”

  “Hardly,” said Sam with a chuckle. “He regretted me for a month or so, I’m told. But then he met an exotic heiress whose father is a wealthy plantation owner in the West Indies. They married in August and have gone to live in Jamaica for a year or two. I truly believe he’s in love.”

  “I’m very glad of that,” Amanda replied, her soft heart soothed by such good news. But then she got a stricken look in her eyes, lifting them first to Jack, then to Julian. “But what about poor Charlotte?”

  The mention of Charlotte’s name threw a gloomy pall over everyone in the room … except, of course, for Jonathan, who couldn’t care less. But everyone else felt a particular interest in the happiness of Charlotte Batsford and wished they could somehow promote it.

  “Dashed bad luck she ever met the two of us, eh, Julian?” Jack muttered.

  “I just wish she’d liked any one of the several men who asked for her hand over the years. You and I were the only two she’s ever favored.” Julian sighed. “But she’s a Trojan. She’s forgiven us both.”

  “If only there was someone we could introduce her to, Julian,” Sam said. “Someone who reminds her of both of you.”

  “Now there’s a frightening thought,” Julian murmured. “Besides, she’s expressly asked me to never introduce her to any male relatives. In fact, I promised. She’s through with Montgomery men forever!”

  “But I didn’t promise,” Jack said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Which gives me leave to—”

  Everyone looked toward Jack and waited. After staring at the carpet for a minute or two, he lifted his head, his eyes black and brilliant.

  “I don’t like that look,” Julian said warily. “You had the same look that day you put tadpoles in the vicar’s soup.”

  Amanda laughed. “But he must have been very young!”

  “He was twenty,” Julian said with an aggrieved expression.

  “I’m not wanting to play mischief, Julian,” Jack assured him. “I’m just thinking about our cousin, Jamie, in Edinburgh.”

  “That wastrel? Why?”

  Jack grinned. “Charlotte has a soft spot for wastrels. She liked me well enough, didn’t she?”

  “But perhaps she’s learned her lesson,” Julian suggested repressively. “You will remember … she liked me, too. I can’t imagine what you’re thinking trying to shackle Charlotte to that devil-may-care Scotsman!”

  Undeterred, Jack continued, “As soon as Amanda and I get settled at Ferndale after Christmas, I’m going to write to Jamie and invite him to come down in the spring to stay with us in London during the Season. I’ll introduce Charlotte to Jamie, then step back and see what happens. That’s all I’ll do! The rest will be up to the two of them.”

  “Really, Jack!” Julian scoffed. “If you have turned matchmaker, you are doing a very shabby job of it. Charlotte and Jamie will not suit.”

  “But Julian,” said Sam, stroking the back of his neck. “You did not think you and I would suit, either.”

  Julian slightly inclined his head. “That’s true. However—”

  “What can it hurt to introduce them to each other?”

  “Sam, I promised—”

  “But Jack didn’t promise.”

  Although he had some grave misgivings about sanctioning Jack’s matchmaking scheme, Julian was forced to relent. He could not deny that Charlotte, despite her reserve, liked Montgomery men. And he likewise could not deny that unlikely matches made some of the happiest of unions. He and Sam were a prime example of that.

  “All right, brat,” Julian said with grudging good humor and an affectionate squeeze of Sam’s knee. “I see your point.”

  “Then it is settled,” Jack said triumphantly. “Next spring Jamie Montgomery and Charlotte Batsford will meet.”

  Sam and Amanda smiled across the room at each other. Their eyes told all. If Charlotte had a chance to love and be loved by a Montgomery man, she’d be a fool not to give it one more try.

  Now, how did that quote go? Ah, yes … Third time was the charm.

  The Spring Begins

  Danice Allen

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 1993 by Danice Allen

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email info@diversionbooks.com

  First Diversion Books edition August 2014

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-407-3

  Author’s Note

  Researching my latest novel, Journey of the Heart, which takes place in Edinburgh, I fell in love with Scotland. What a grand and sweeping landscape! What fascinating history and stoic patriotism! What a setting for a romance! So it was an immense pleasure conjuring up a story about the widower, Adam McAllister, his two bonny bairns, Mary and Kyle, and their feisty governess, Letitia Webster.

  Ever since reading Jane Eyre, I have wanted to do a governess story. In the nineteenth century it was impossible for a respectable, educated female to live in the same house with an unattached male without kissing her good name good-bye, unless, of course, she was a governess. Getting my hero and heroine under the same roof opened up all sorts of possibilities for relationship-building, and for plain and simple fun.

  Beyond the romance, “The Spring Begins” is a story of redemption. Adam McAllister is a man who needs to put aside the past in order to embrace the future. He has been grieving over his dead wife for two years, emotionally isolating himself from his children, and generally shrouding himself in the gloom of perpetual winter. As implied by the title, for Adam the spring begins when Letitia enters his life. And Letitia has found a love that transcends social boundaries and helps heal some wounds of her own.

  I hope you enjoy your visit to Leys Castle in the Highlands of Scotland and learn to love the McAllister family as much as I loved creating them!

  —Danice Allen

  The Spring Begins

  “And time remembered is grief forgotten,

  And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,

  And in green underwood and cover,

  Blossom by blossom the spring begins.”

  —Swinburne, “A Vision of Spring”

  MAY 1814

  NEAR INVERNESS, SCOTLAND

  Adam McAllister, Viscount Blair, was late, and he hated not being punctual above just about any other imperfection he might be plagued wi
th on any given day. There simply was no excuse for it, barring, of course, the occasional blizzard or hail storm that might understandably impede his progress. But today…

  Adam lowered the edifying instructional pamphlet he’d bought at Woolsy’s Book Emporium entitled The Guardian’s Guide to the Scheduling of Children’s Activities and looked about him for the first time since his barouche had left Inverness at half past noon. His coachman had folded the hood back on the vehicle, and Adam had an unobstructed view of the surrounding countryside.

  Spring had indeed sprung, as the saying went. The air was as soft as eiderdown and sweet-scented by the fields of wildflowers that lined the road. Larks sang in the woodsy knots of rowan and birch trees, interspersed with ruddy-barked Scots pine, that were nestled against the cool green foothills. The cloudless sky was a deep cerulean, dotted with startled grouse taking wing at the sound of Adam’s carriage trundling by. Brown hare gamboled in the heather. The scene was idyllic. So Scottish. So full of life. So alien to someone, like himself, who was dead inside, and had been for the two years since he’d lost his Maggie.

  Maggie had been the sort of wife a man would sell his soul for. And mayhap he had made such a bargain with the devil on the eve of his wedding, because now that Maggie was dead he felt no soaring of spiritual awareness, no affection for Mother Nature when he was confronted by beauty such as this. Euphoric feelings were functions of the soul, matters of the heart, after all. And he felt nothing.

  “Spring ’em, Will,” he ordered his coachman.

  Will turned in his seat and frowned at his master. “Tsk-tsk, me lord! On such a bonny day as this ye want me t’ be drivin’ harem-scarem and missin’ all the beauty what’s t’ be seen?”

  Neighboring gentry would be surprised to hear Adam’s coachman speak to him so familiarly, but Will had been in the former Lord Blair’s employ long before Adam was even a twinkle in his father’s eye; therefore he allowed Will privileges that weren’t extended to the other servants.